Читать книгу Clear: A Transparent Novel - Nicola Barker - Страница 7

‘What a twat. What a stupid, self-indulgent, idiotic fucking twat.’

A. G. MacK. (on hearing this seductive mating call), rips off his neat, black pullover to reveal his lairy Gunners colours underneath. He commences a conversation with a remarkably pretty – if slightly loopy – girl about the possibility that David Blaine’s transparent box might actually be made of glucose (when he thinks nobody’s looking, can’t you see the bastard licking?), and puts forward the additional hypothesis that when the autumn weather really kicks in – when it rains – the box will gradually dissolve, and that attention-craving American fraud will take the mother of all tumbles.

Hah!